Harry Potter and the Second Personality
by loboyst
Summary: Harry wasn't crazy. Magic was real and so was the kid in his body named Tom. [Alive Potters & Twin Story]
1. Chapter 1

_Tags:_ Not-Completely-Sane Harry, Abandoned Harry, Twin Story, Alive Potters, More TBA  
 _Inspirations:_ All twin HP stories, Zetsu (from Naruto), USA Today video about Christine Pattillo  
 _Disclaimer:_ I enrolled in a high school Psychology class once. Safe to say I know nothing about personality disorders.

* * *

 **Harry Potter and the Second Personality**

Wool's Orphanage wasn't an average-looking orphanage. Surrounding it was a high, pointed fence and a creaky gate so rusted, passersby were surprised it didn't blow away in the wind. The building itself was made of worn brick that on a sunny day wouldn't look dark, but on a overcast day (a majority of the days in London) was ominous, and it was no wonder adoption rates were low at Wool's.

Most children that came to Wool's Orphanage never left Wool's Orphanage, and that was very true for Harry Evans.

Harry had resided at Wool's since he was six years old when his Aunt and Uncle had thrown him out of the car and driven off without a word. He really should've known his Aunt was lying when she said they were only getting ice cream.

After all, Surrey's Soft Cream Ice Cream shop was only ten minutes away from the house.

Everything had happened so fast Harry still wasn't sure about the details, even four years later.

One moment he was being bullied at the school yard, the next he was standing in Kitchen of his family's home with a bloody nose. Aunt Petunia had screamed, fainted, woken up while screaming (although that's probably because his face had been only inches away from hers), and threw him in the cupboard under the stairs in less than a minute. She had locked it and dialed Uncle Vernon still screaming albeit coherently by this point.

"They lied! They lied! He does _it_! _It,_ Vernon! He is a freak like _them!_ " She had screeched. "You need to come home, _now_! I can't be alone with him; he might do something!" There was a break. "NO! Right _NOW_! We need to get rid of him RIGHT NOW!"

The phone was hung up, the front door was slammed shut as Aunt Petunia exited the house, and Harry held his badly bruised body and bleeding nose in anguish, wondering why his beloved Aunt and Uncle had forsaken him.

Sooner than later, his Uncle had come home to unlock him from the prison under the stairs (little did he know the first of many prisons), and escorted him to the car with a peculiar expression.

His aunt, whose eyes bulged and nostrils flared with the same peculiar expression on her face, had said mechanically, "I'm sorry for earlier, Harry. Since you've stopped bleeding, let's go for ice cream to make up for it."

"It's… it's okay, Aunt Petunia. I didn't mean to scare you. Should I change first?" He'd glanced down at his dirty clothes dotted with blood.

"No, just as you are is fine. No one will see. Hurry, get in the car," she had demanded firmly, eyes skirting back and forth around the neighborhood.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, just in the car. Now."

"But what about Dudley? He loves ice cream. Are we going to get him from—?"

" _Just get in the car_! Right now! Before somebody sees you! Do you want ice cream or not?!"

Harry had scurried inside the car, careful not to get too much grime in Uncle Vernon's new Audi 100 (since he knew how much his uncle loved that car).

The rest was history.

And that's how he'd found himself in Wool's Orphanage, betrayed, abandoned, furious and imprisoned.

Well, actually, the imprisonment had come gradually.

It had all started with that teleporting incident in Primary school and devolved from there. It was like that one, fantastical moment had opened up a gateway of strange and mysterious things. Suddenly, things broke when he was angry, his hair grew overnight if he wanted it long, he could turn people's hair colors if he was bored, healing was a reality but only if concentrated hard enough, and he'd gained the ability to speak with snakes.

He was pretty sure when he was five years old he wasn't able to do that.

It was as amazing as it was damning, because as incredible as he thought it was the matrons didn't agree.

The first time they witnessed his abilities, they questioned it but didn't react. After all, Mrs. Johnson was nearly blind and halfway senile at the age of 74. Who could honestly say she had actually cropped his hair the way she said?

The second time Bradley Graham had maliciously mashed pink bubblegum into Harry's hair (which resulted in another cut by Mrs. Johnson by the way) and called him a poof so Harry had turned Bradley's hair pink _and_ grew _his_ hair down to his toes. Nobody could prove it was Harry but the matrons watched him a little more suspiciously.

The third time a group of horrible kids was teasing him about being abandoned at six, reasoning his family thought he was evil and a _freak_ , and for reasons Harry never thought to analyze, it made him livid. The windows exploded and glass sprinkled the cramped hallway, and Harry had sworn he didn't do anything but somehow, everyone had had shards of glass imbedded in their skin while he had remained unharmed. The matrons hadn't believed him.

"It's just like _that_ boy," one ancient matron had hissed.

Whispered murmurs of "devil-child" had circulated quickly and Harry had found himself regulated to his room more often than not. Until one day Oliver Wick threw a snake in his room as a cruel joke. Perhaps Oliver had expected to hear screaming, but Harry had surprised himself and probably Oliver too when instead of screaming, there was talking. Between him and the snake.

Conversation had been dull but on the bright side Harry convinced it not to eat him. At some point, Oliver had opened the door to peak at what he was expecting to be chaos, and the snake turned on him, hungry.

Just to be clear, Harry hadn't told the snake to attack Oliver and he'd swear that on his dead parents' grave, but when the snake asked if the other boy could be eaten instead Harry had shrugged.

It was a small snake, maybe a half-meter. The worst it could do was bite off a couple toes, or so Harry reasoned.

Except Oliver had wailed bloody murder (snake en route), found the nearest matron, convinced her Harry had set the snake on him with devil-speak, and still lost a toe.

Apparently, the garden snake had bitten clear-through the shoes and ripped off the pinky toe. Harry had never gotten the chance to see it. With haste the matrons threw him out of Wool's, no longer willing to co-habitat with a devil-child, except the police saw a shivering nine-year old in the middle of February and immediately brought him to the nearest place: Wool's Orphanage.

So instead, Harry had been relocated to the dark, damp cellar where broken furniture was discarded in hopes it could one day be salvage. He'd been given a bucket and chained to the wall and told to 'make it work.'

Soon after, a man had visited him, introducing himself as Father Creed. He'd chanted prayers from the Bible, a small black book similar to the one Aunt Petunia had at her bedside,and alternated between English and another language Harry had never heard of.

He'd flung water on Harry and yelled, "the power of Christ compels you!"

Again and again and again.

Father Creed had visited everyday before dinner (which was literally thrown at him by a matron). Harry had counted a total of 37 times before the man got bored and never returned.

Father Creed wasn't the _best_ company but he was _consistent_ company, and with his departure Harry had been isolated in darkness that was only interrupted by one meal a day.

Harry had been lonely and confused. Lonely because even though nobody in the orphanage had liked him, he had still had the opportunity to be around people, and confused because _why did people hate him?_ It wasn't like Harry could _control_ whatever strangeness was happening.

Occasionally, the matrons would bring someone new to the cellar and they'd do the same thing Father Creed did before getting bored (much quicker than Father Creed).

However, the fewer Fathers that came around, the more a new type of 'treatment' was used.

Mrs. Ramsey called it beating the evil out. Apparently, she had been planning diabolically (no pun intended) for months. She had convinced the Head Matron the cellar was appropriate lodgings for fledging devil-children, had been in charge of his meals so had intentionally given him less than enough to weaken him, and slowly weened Wool's off of the Priest visits.

Because although she had claimed to be a woman of God, she had felt it necessary to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

And Harry had to admit, her plan had hit the mark. He'd lost track of the time and days had blurred together in a mass of pain and crying and anger because he was too weak to do anything. He could feel _something_ moving beneath his skin, but it wasn't in anticipation per usual. It rolled like sludge, sluggish and heavy.

It was the first time he'd felt hopeless since he was six years old.

It was jarring and desperation had broken through the surface when it had sunk in he was truly trapped. He couldn't just teleport to Aunt Petunia's kitchen. He couldn't heal himself like he'd healed his bruises and cuts before. He couldn't break the chain and run. He could barely use the bucket.

And something broke in Harry that day as he'd laid on the old wooden floors of the cellar of Wool's Orphanage. It was like a dam being overpowered by rushing rapids and destroying anything it's way to make a passageway. It had been exhausting and Harry hadn't woken up for what felt like days if his stomach had been anything to go by.

" **You're finally awake**."

Harry had startled but beyond the twitch of his left leg didn't move.

" **Answer me. I know you're awake."** The voice had been deeper than his own, gravelly and accented differently from his too. The strange thing was it had been coming out of his own mouth, except he wasn't controlling it.

It had been surreal, like an out of body experience, and Harry had felt as if he was looking at himself interact with himself. It had been beyond his comprehension, so Harry had chosen to ignore it.

"Wh-o are y-ou?" His own voice had been gravelly from disuse and dehydration.

The voice had hummed, taking control of Harry's vocal functions. **"I suppose... you may call me Tom."**

It had been strange at first, but over time Tom became an integral part of Harry's life. After all, he wasn't alone anymore. Even when the matrons threw Harry out of the orphanage for a second time and had pleaded with the city to lock him away because he was mentally ill, Harry didn't complain once because Tom was with him.

The world was so much warmer when there was someone to see it with. Especially when strange things happened.

"You saw it too, didn't you? The owl?"

" **I saw it."**

"And you're reading this letter too, aren't you?"

" **I read it."**

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Knew we weren't crazy."

" **We are,"** Tom corrected. **"We're just not hallucinating… yet."**

"Ever." Harry said with finality. "We should go there. To Hogwarts. Where d'you think we buy this stuff?"

Tom began tapping Harry's fingers against the bedside table. **"There must be a shop for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and since we've never heard of it, it must be a secret. Perhaps we should contact the school…"**

Harry looked into the distance at the small speck that was the owl that had dropped off the letter. "Do you think it'll get there by regular post?"

Tom shook Harry's head. **"Probably not."**

"Maybe I can ask around…?" Harry suggested. "Someone has to of heard of it."

" **Not if it's a secret, dimwit!"**

"I'm not a dimwit, dimwit!"

" **You are a dimwit, dimwit!"**

"Am not! I'll prove it!" Harry jumped off of the bed and headed for the door.

" **Just where do you think you're going?!"** Tom used Harry's hand to grab onto the bedding.

"To prove I'm not a dimwit and see who knows about Hogwarts! Let go!" Harry yanked his arm to no avail.

" **We can't go through the door! They'll stop us!"**

Harry settled immediately and stopped struggling. "You're right." He glanced toward the open window blocked by bars that were only wide enough to stick an arm through.

" **No."** Tom denied quickly.

"But we have— **No!—** to at least try— **No!—** It's emergency plan Delta! We have— **Harry!—** Tom, we have to!"

Tom groaned, rolling Harry's eyes. **"Fine. But I hope you know there's no coming back after this? They'll put us in padded solitary."**

"Yeah, yeah. Ready?" Harry held out a palm towards the window. "Three, two, one…"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the bars. Metal squealed against each other until it was a giant heap of twisted scraps.

"Did we do it? I don't want to look."

Tom opened Harry's eyes and strode to the window. **"We did it—** _YES!—_ **but do you know how to climb a tree?"**

Harry's excitement stuttered as Tom rested Harry's foot against the window seal. "Er…"

" **Thought not. Let me take care of this and whatever you do,** _ **don't**_ **interrupt."**

Harry crossed his finger over his heart and relaxed. With the skills of a monkey, Tom had Harry down in less than three minutes before taking off in a run.

" **What's the plan?"**

Harry stopped the running and looked around. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the streets of London were bursting with life because of the pleasant July weather.

Cupping his hands to mouth, Harry shouted. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" His voice was _unnaturally_ loud in such a crowded and noisy area and it drew much of the passersby attention. He raised his crumpled letter and waved it around wildly.

Tom attempted to whisper, **"Harry stop—!** We got a letter today from a school called Hogwarts and mphff mandjif uh lo—" Tom slapped Harry's hand over his mouth.

Harry ripped it off with his other hand. "And I wanted to know if anyone can help me please find it!"

There were mutterings of "loon" and "nutcase" but amidst them was something else. There was the sound of popcorn in the area and people with sticks appeared, muttering strange things.

"What are they saying, Tom?"

Tom narrowed Harry's eyes, straining to hear. **"It sounds like Obliviate Mag…"**

Tom trailed off as a stick became level with Harry's eyes.

"Petrificus totalus!"

Harry's body seized up and he wasn't sure what happened from there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter and the Second Personality**

* * *

Waking up to harsh jabbing wasn't the start to a picture perfect day for Harry.

"Wake up." _Jab._ "Wake up, you."

" **Stop,"** Tom demanded to Harry's everlasting gratitude. **"Are you trying to break a rib."**

 _Jab._ "I'm _trying_ to wake you up. You have trial in five minutes."

Harry opened his eyes to a blue-eyed, middle aged man pointing a stick at him. "Trial? For what? It's because of the window thing, isn't it? We're sorry. Really really sorry— **don't admit to that!—** but we _did_ break it— **But they don't know that!"**

Harry pouted.

"Oi! Stop being weird, will ya? All that talking to yourself is giving me goosebumps."

"Dawlish!" A woman called from outside of the small 10x10 room.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Bring'm in. They're ready now."

"Yes, ma'am." He turned his gaze toward Harry. "You heard the lady. Move it!"

Tom gave him a flat stare. **"You realize we don't know where we're going right?"**

Dawlish coughed, cheeks fading into a light pink. "Don't get smart with me," he muttered under his great.

They walked a short distance to a large chamber at the end of the hall. It had two-story doors and was grandiose with various artwork and a chandeliers decorating the room behind the doors. The wooden floor was bare and at the front of the room was an elevated dais with thirty men and women garbed in purple robes.

"Harry James Evans. You are being charged with breaking the Statute of Secrecy by divulging to muggles information about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How do you plead?"

Harry stumbled, unsure of what half the sentence meant. "Er… I don't know what the statute of secrecy or muggles— **Not guilty! Never guilty,"** Tom reminded Harry. "Yea, not guilty!"

They looked at him strangely and the man, who had addressed him, turned to his peers with his long, white beard jiggling from the motion. "Members of the Wizengamot. I concur with Mr. Evan's plea. It is very obvious he is muggle-reared."

"Chief Warlock, if he is 'muggle-reared' as you say why was he not informed about the secrecy of our world," another feeble looking old man objected. "Is it not Hogwarts policy to escort and educate all muggleborns?"

"It seems to me Hogwarts is fumbling letting potential risks slip through the cracks unnecessarily," a blond man concluded with a hum.

"How do we know this isn't the first time, Chief Warlock? How many people out there know about our world because of terrible mistakes made by Hogwarts?"

"Is it Hogwarts you are blaming or the staff, Mr. Nott? Because it sounds to me as if your blaming the very teachers who educated you to be the man you are today. However fortunate or unfortunate that may have been," a female huffed, adjusting the hat on her head.

Harry's eyes darted back and forth, watching the arguing like a tennis match.

"Hey, Tom," he whispered. "I think they forgot about us. Maybe we should— **No."**

Tom turned Harry's head just slightly to the large double doors. **"Those men guarding the door are watching us. They can do** _ **things**_ **just like us. I'm unsure how much, but they use those sticks. There's too many for us to take out."**

Harry crossed his arms with a pout. "This is like being trapped in the hospital all over again."

" **At least we're not chained to the floor."**

Harry scowled even deeper. "Why're we always being punished for nothing? We didn't even _hurt_ anybody this time. I just don't get it."

"Order! Order, I say!" A graying woman stomped on the ground with a booted foot. "Witnesses say Evans mentioned Hogwarts en masse but did not reveal it to be affiliated with magic. With this justification, we have no charges on which to hold a 10-year old boy. Chief Warlock, please lead the vote so that this madness can end."

Several people sneered, but the bearded man obeyed the woman's orders by calling out a vote that ended in Harry being released after who knows how many hours held in captivity.

Harry leaped for joy and nearly bolted out of the room when a voice called him.

"Mr. Evans! A word please?" The Chief Warlock stopped him. Harry hesitantly turned back to face him. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I—"

Pain exploded in Harry's head. He lurched forward gripping his hair. **"I don't like this man, Harry…"** Tom hissed but it was drowned out by the hastily exiting members. **"I want to kill him**."

"Mr. Evans are you alright?"

"Why?" Harry gasped in a mumble. "Tom stop."

" **Kill him, Harry. We should kill him—** no, we can't— **we can—** we can't!"

"I'm sorry? You can't what?"

"We can't ki—" Tom locked Harry's lips together, clenching the teeth hard. Harry struggled against the control, but when he gave up, Tom continued for him.

" **Nothing."**

Dumbledore peered through his half-spectacles with calculating blue eyes. "If you're certain." Tom nodded. "Very well. I stopped you today because I am truly apologetic about how the day's events proceeded. Occasionally, when magical children born into the Wizarding world are removed from said world, Hogwarts overlooks them when we begin assigning representatives. You are one such case, unfortunately."

"It's ok, Mr. Dumble— **what do you mean by born into the Wizarding world?"**

"Walk with me to the surface, Mr. Evans. There is so much to explain." Slowly, he lead Harry through the door and to a normal-looking elevator. They hopped on, Dumbledore pressed a floor and the elevator took off. Not up or down, but in twists and turns. "You were raised in the muggle world, so don't hesitate in questioning any unfamiliar terms or references—muggle is the term for non-magicals." Dumbledore winked and Harry closed his mouth. "It is not my place to tell you the entire story, but I will tell you what I can."

"Okay…"

All thanks to Tom, that's how Harry discovered he came from an entire family who did _magic._ A magical family called the Potters.

"The Potter family tree extends for centuries, even millennia depending who you ask and is regarded as a strong line. You were born Harry James Potter, not Harry James Evans. Evans was your mothers name before she became a Potter."

Harry's eyes widened and he felt his heart thump in chest. The thought that he had inherited a small piece of his mom and a small piece of his dad before they died warmed his insides.

"They loved you, Harry." Dumbledore peered over his glasses with sad blue eyes. "I'm sure they still do, but things became tricky after the fall of… They became worried you were… a squib."

"A squib…?"

"A child born from a magical family but without magic. It occasionally occurs, even in strong lines like the Potters. In some circles, it is considered a fate worse than death to grow up magic-less in such a magical environment. Even the worst parents wouldn't wish that fate on their offspring, and often times parents allow their magic-less child to grow up with non-magical people—in the muggle world. Such is the situation with yourself."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"It was a difficult decision for your parents I'm sure. To send you to the muggle world…"

Harry blinked again, still attempting to comprehend. He tilted his head. "What decision? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said my parents died in a horrible, fiery car crash."

Dumbledore placed a wrinkled, old hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you will hear it this way, but your parents are very much alive."

Harry replayed the words in his mind, certain he'd forgotten the English language. Eleven years he'd lived without knowing he had parents, three of which were spent in an orphanage of horrors and two in captivity.

Unbidden, words from the mean orphan kids resurfaced in his mind.

" _Nobody wants a freak. Even your family threw you away…"_

When he was seven, his mind had always associated that statement with his aunt and uncle. Now that his parents were alive… there seemed to be more truth in it than he was willing to accept.

Harry wouldn't know if Dumbledore kept speaking after that, because he mentally shutdown.

"Harry," Dumbledore called. "Are you alright?"

Tom felt the moment the other receded into the darkness of his mind. It created an emptiness he had never felt before and suddenly Tom was in total control. Standing, breathing, blinking was all on his command now. Alone. It was strange and foreign, and a sense of loneliness rose up to grip his heart along with something else.

The need to protect Harry that rose up shadowed everything else—even his unexplained dislike for the man before him.

He cleared his throat. **"Fine…sir."**

"I understand this may be hard to accept, but perhaps allowing them to explain would be better…" Dumbledore added in a curious lilt that turned the statement into a question.

Tom felt Harry's heart beating fast in a way it had never done for as long as he'd known him. **"No, thank you, sir."**

"Surely you'd like to meet them at least?"

The elevator dinged finally and Tom breathed a sigh of relief.

" **Sir, we've had a long day. All we wanted to do was find the shop for witchcraft and wizardry, because your letter had no instructions on it, but instead wound up in a prison cell and not in…"**

Tom paused and his eyes widened in surprise.

They stood in a phone booth not far from where Harry had caused a scene. How strange.

"I find it curious, Mr. Potter, that you refer to yourself in plural…" Dumbledore set analytical eyes on him. "Were there more than just you in London today?"

Tom wiped sweaty palms on the light blue pants provided by the hospital. **"Of course not, sir. It's just a… a habit."**

The old man's face remained neutral making it hard for Tom to read a reaction.

Dumbledore hummed. "Allow me to escort you home, Mr. Potter—"

" **I'll make it, sir. W… I… don't live far."**

"Nonsense," he rebutted quickly. "I cannot in good conscience leave a young man to wander home alone."

Seeing the adamance, Tom weighed his options. If he and Harry returned to the hospital, they would probably never see the light of day again, but the only other place Tom knew was…

" **I must warn you, sir."** Tom kicked his legs into action to begin walking down the street. Strangely, he knew exactly where he was going but didn't question it. **"They won't take kindly to…"** he eyed the purple dress the man was wearing, **"your sort. So you won't be allowed to come in."**

Bewilderment immediately appeared on Dumbledore's face. "My sort?"

Tom nodded. **"The sort that can** _ **do**_ **things** _ **,**_ **like u…me."**

"Yes… muggles generally aren't too accepting of magic and wizards," he agreed, tapping his chin. "It is with great reluctance I must ask if they treat you well?"

There was silence for a long moment but eventually with gritted teeth and another nod, Tom said, **"Yes."**

"That is reassuring… but are certain I can't convince you to meet with your parents? As the headmaster of Hogwarts, it is not my place to intervene; as such, I will not force you. However, family reconnection is too beautiful an event to simply not try to convince you once more."

" **No, thank you, sir. Too much has happened today…"**

Harry's withdrawal into himself was the only thought at the forefront of Tom's mind when he gave his answer.

"I understand, my boy. Then tomorrow at noon I will have a professor meet with you to discuss Hogwarts and gather your supplies. If you change your mind about your family, please do let him know."

 **"I will, sir."**

Tom finally stopped walking to stand beside tall, iron gates.

"Is this where…" Dumbledore trailed off with a slightly alarmed expression as he eyed the lettering woven into the rusty gate.

" **Yes. Thank you, sir. I'm heading in now."** With that, Tom slipped through the gates with a slow pace.

A walk that normally required 15 seconds Tom stretched into a full two minutes. He reached for the doorknob and turned back to gates, hoping to see the man walking away.

Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore was still there. Staring.

Fortunately for him, he didn't stay much longer and waved to Harry before disappearing.

Literally, disappearing. Tom narrowed his eyes at the spectacle but didn't linger on the front porch of Wool's Orphanage.

He took off running into the streets of London.


End file.
